


He's Asgardian, Not Indestructible

by GalaxyThreads



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Protective Avengers, Protectiveness, Team as Family, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Thor (Marvel) Feels, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, thor whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 04:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19605091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads
Summary: 5 times the Avengers were overprotective of Thor, and the one time they should have been. (No slash, no smut!) Avengers as family! Thor!Whump! (One-Shot)





	He's Asgardian, Not Indestructible

**Author's Note:**

> Good whatever time of the day it is to you, my stars! Thanks for looking at this one! :) 
> 
> I'm a sucker for Avengers family, and this prompt has been in progress for months now before I finally sat down and forced myself to finish it completely. I didn't do the most in-depth look over, so I imagine there will be mistakes and I apologize. I can't say I'm awfully proud of this one, I kind of just wanted it DONE. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) You're all amazing! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I ain' own nothin'! 
> 
> Rated for: Some violence. No smut, no slash, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.
> 
> Parings: Jane/Thor
> 
> For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanfiction.Net on "LodestarJumper"
> 
> Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

* * *

1.

See, the thing is, none of them took him seriously.

They should have.

But they didn't.

Steve himself should have understood to _some_ degree what was going on, but he, as ever, was oblivious to something building _right under his nose._ He should have noticed. But he didn't. And now they're all paying the consequences for it.

After coming out of the ice, one of the strangest things to Steve was the availability of food. He grew up in the Great Depression, he was more than aware of what it was like to go hungry, but now anyone could now buy food almost anywhere. Gas stations, grocery stores _,_ department stores—even _vending_ machines. It's everywhere, and Steve couldn't keep himself from openly gaping sometimes.

His metabolism had never really been a problem until the serum—one of the reasons that he was so sickly all the time was because his never functioned correctly until after the advancements. He couldn't feel hunger, and it was a problem. He often forgot he needed to eat until he got so dizzy he nearly passed out and Bucky would give him one of those _looks_ and stuff food down his gullet assuring Steve in every vocabulary word he knew of that he's an idiot. Steve would laugh and the cycle would repeat—The twenty-first century is different.

He's mostly adjusted to these facts with food by the time Fury contacts him for the Avengers, and by the time he's moved into Stark Tower, it's pretty much in the back of his mind. He eats a lot, and he knows it. He's a little embarrassed by it, admittedly, but he _has to_ or bad things happen.

That's just that.

Tony can be obnoxious about it sometimes, but for the most part he understands and pokes at him ruthlessly in a way that's not quite as nasty, but this is just something that is a part of him—not that he can control—and accepts it.

It's during one of their later battles as a team that Steve realizes he isn't the only person to experience this...gaping hole effect.

The fight hadn't been intense, just some woman deciding that books were evil and burned down stores as she waved everyone off with a gun. It really wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but she also had a _blowtorch_ and had previously shot sixteen police officers (no casualties, her aim is terrible) when they arrive.

The battle is quick and she's detained in under five minutes.

After Hulk has returned to Bruce, Steve jogs to him, blanket in hand and he stares up at Steve, wide eyed. "I am starving." He declares heavily, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he adjusts what remains of his pants for modesty.

Steve laughs a little and pats him on the shoulder slightly, "We'll stop by somewhere."

Thor, who has appeared out of nowhere (he does that, it's unnerving. Steve has heard people ask if Thor is ever quiet and a more appropriate question would be is he ever _loud?)_ echoes Steve's jubilance, though his face is slightly pinched.

"Aye." He agrees.

Tony lands with a thunk beside them, and his faceplate opens to reveal his irritated expression. "Oh, my gosh you guys, I could have taken out this lady in my sleep. This was something any _one_ of us could handle. Why did we have to assemble? I was _working._ She was barely above, like, an angry bee."

"Dude," Clint addresses, stuffing a few of his gathered arrows into his quiver, "she had a _blowtorch."_

" _I_ have a blowtorch!" Tony counters.

"Don't burn my books please," Bruce jokes weakly, and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Gosh, you must think so little of me. I'd never sink _that_ low," He says dryly, and Steve shakes his head a little at the banter.

"Alright," he addresses, "let's help clean up what we can, and then possibly food?"

"Food," his team agrees.

"It's not even six AM yet, and I didn't eat breakfast," Clint declares, "I am a gaping hole of misery."

"Yeah-yeah," Natasha agrees, walking off to assist a fireman, "you poor baby."

"Thank you for your sympathies. Bury me near a field of flowers?" Clint questions sweetly and Natasha whacks the back of his head.

Steve noticed, but didn't _note_ the subtle fall of Thor's shoulders as the agenda was listed.

The first month since they moved to the Tower is probably the one where Thor was the most sporadic. He'd stay on Earth for a few days before hopping off to Asgard to assist with something before returning. In total, out of the thirty days, he was on Earth for about six.

It's in the middle of the third month since the move—after Tony passes out from whatever illness Natasha brought back from Russia—that Steve finally begins to notice what the problem is. Sort of. He actually begins to _note_ it, and that's something.

Thor doesn't eat as much as him, and that's... _really weird._ Thor has a higher metabolism than his—at least, Steve's _assuming_ so, because he heals at a higher rate and than all of them, and that energy has to come from somewhere—so he _should_ be eating more.

But Thor doesn't.

He _clearly_ doesn't, and it bothers him.

He doesn't mention it to anyone, not _yet,_ but he keeps tabs on Thor and tries to determine the cause, but can't really place one. Food is available, Thor can cook, and even if he couldn't, food is mostly premade now, so the source is evading him.

He doesn't want to openly confront him, but he _needs_ to discuss this with _someone._

"You need to stop staring at him," Tony suggests without looking up from his screw driver after Steve has explained the situation.

Steve's gaze flickers a little, "How is _that_ going to help?"

Tony looks up at him, "He's a foreigner from a planet we don't even know what _looks_ like. I'd be uncomfortable eating Asgardian food. Maybe he just doesn't like ours. Stop staring at him, trust me, no one likes to be gawked at."

"I'm not _gawking_ at him," Steve counters, though he can feel heat rising to his face.

"Uh-huh," Tony agrees.

Steve groans and tips his head back, "Fine. I'll back off."

He does. He's rather proud of himself for doing so, until, about three days later in the middle of a mission, Thor passes out. Clint, who was with him, swears loudly, and there's silence over the comms as he assesses the situation, "I don't know what's wrong," he says quickly, "he's breathing, but he keeps twitching."

Clint swears again, and Steve hears the sound of an explosion over the comms, "We need to call an evac—" another explosion, "—and I need cover so we can get him back to the jet. Assistance?"

Steve shoves his shield into the Doombot and breathes out heavily, glancing towards Natasha. She bodily slams one of the bots to the ground and shoots it. Swinging hair away from her face, she inhales the ragged smell of oil deeply, "You got this?" She questions breathlessly.

Steve nods, ducking from a blast, "Widow's on her way." He announces, pressing a hand against his ear, "Iron Man, what's the status on the Doombots?"

"Uh—" there's a louder explosion on Tony's line, "—well, they keep exploding, I can't find a pattern, Doom actually appears to have done something with his security updates, I don't even know what type of code I'm looking at, and my teammate is passed out on the floor somewhere. Give me, like, two minutes."

Steve huffs, but gives an affirmative, focusing on dealing with the bots.

Three minutes later, Tony's disabled the bots, and after five, Steve is standing next to the hospital bed that Thor is sitting in with an irritated expression, as Clint and Natasha give him equally unimpressed looks.

"—you should have _told_ us your blood sugar was this low," Bruce chides, adjusting the IV line in Thor's arm, "do you even know how dangerous it was to be running around like this?"

Thor's face fixes into a scowl, but his eyes are on his lap like a reprimanded child.

Steve walks up to them and glances at Bruce. "What's the assessment?"

Bruce shakes his head, flicking a hand out towards Thor as Steve removes his cowl, "He hasn't been eating _nearly_ enough—and he passed out from it."

Steve shifts his gaze from Bruce to Thor. The Asgardian holds his stare for a little less than a second before dropping it back to his lap. Steve sighs and tries to gather up the tattered remains of his patience, "Do you have an explanation?"

Thor shrugs, "It...slipped my mind,"

That sounds more like a question than a statement. Steve raises an eyebrow, and shares a glance with Bruce, "It... _what?"_ Bruce repeats, "Are you serious? How can you forget to eat?"

Thor waves a hand, "Asgard's food is different. I forgot that I need to eat more here. I've been preoccupied."

Alright. Fair. But still. Steve frowns, and bites at his lower lip for a second, "Alright. Just try to be more careful in the future."

Thor nods, his gaze flicking back to his lap as if embarrassed.

This, Steve supposes, is when they finally began to regularly eat meals together.

Steve is a little amused, but not surprised, that within the following week when Thor offhandedly mentions that he's hungry, all of them immediately pull food off of their person they were carrying for this purpose and wave it at his face.

000o000

2.

The first signs weren't nearly as obvious as a normal human being's would have been. Thor squinted a bit more than usual, didn't laugh as much, and picked at food with a persistence that could rival a small child. That was pretty much it. A majority of them noted it, but didn't really do anything on it.

It was _noteworthy,_ but it wasn't pressing.

It really wasn't until Natasha was walking past the bathroom on the common room's floor that she paused. The distinct sound of vomiting roused from the room and she quietly sighs under her breath and promises herself that if Clint knowingly ate mint _again_ , she's going to strangle him.

She knocks on the door for more of a warning than anything else before she shoves it open and steps into the room. Instead of Clint, happy to turn and moan to her about allergies for the rest of their existence, the room is completely dark.

Natasha squints a little, confused, but takes several more steps forward until, through the light of the hall, she can make out Thor's blond hair. It's a tangled mess and he's slumped next to the toilet looking as if he's been stabbed. Given their line of work, that isn't exactly impossible.

She squats down next to him, trying to determine the issue, "Thor?" She questions.

He winces, and Natasha's head tilts a little, "What's the problem?"

"Can you whisper?" He breathes, pressing his fingers against his temples and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Yes," Natasha drops her voice, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know," Thor whispers and winces again as Natasha hears the faint sound of someone dropping something on the floor above them. "Everything just _hurts,_ Natasha, and I don't—" his face blanches again when Natasha hears someone move down the hall and he sits up to promptly heave against the toilet bowl.

Nothing comes up this time, but Natasha still grimaces slightly.

Thor gasps sharply, and squeezes his eyes shut tighter, " _Please,_ please, I can't...it's all so painful and bright, and I just—I cannot—"

Natasha grabs at that, a vague idea forming in her head of what the problem actually is, "Everything feels _heightened?"_ She clarifies, keeping her voice just as quiet as before, "Your hearing, and other senses?"

Thor nods weakly.

Natasha sighs and rests a gentle hand on his upper back, pulling his hair away from his face, "Here, we call it a sensory overload. Have you had these before?" She keeps her tone light, but this is out of more than curiosity.

After a second, Thor gives another nod, "Yes...about as frequently as Midgardians get headaches. Most of the time I can adjust to the amount of noise and light, but there are some days where it just becomes overwhelming…" he rubs at his forehead and Natasha sees him rapidly blinking.

She smooths the blond locks away and begins to twist it into a braid as she tries to determine what course of action from here. Admittedly, she needs Bruce. He'll know more of what to do about this than she does. She has medical training, but S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't exactly train her to deal with enhanced teammates.

Magic and monsters, as she told Clint, was more than she was trained for.

"Um, guys, I love the convenience of modern facilities as much as the next person, but I really don't think there's any need to worship them." Tony's voice sounds from the hall, and Thor visibly flinches as Natasha stays her surprise.

Tony can be far more quiet than she gives him credit for. She turns to see his silhouette in the doorway, and lifts a hand away from Thor's hair to raise it to her lips for the universal sign of silence. "Shh," she chides softly and jerks her head towards Thor, "no loud noises."

Tony squints, clearly confused, before his gaze flicks to Thor and he openly grimaces. "Oh," he voices silently, "sorry."

He takes several steps into the room and comes to a kneeling position beside her, "You drink to much, Point Break?"

Thor huffs, but shakes his head and then seems to regret the decision as his fists clench. Natasha elbows Tony gently, and he flicks his gaze towards her for an explanation. "Sensory overload," she explains, and Tony's lips thin.

"Ah,"

Natasha stares at him for a second, finishing the braid and slips a ponytail from her wrist to keep it in place. Tony drums his fingers for a second, "Well, as wonderful as the bathroom is, it probably isn't the most comfortable thing, and I can think of a few quieter places," He addresses in the same soft tone.

Thor shakes his head slightly, "Mmph, I've tried," he assures, "this is the only room that doesn't hurt as much."

"You ask Jarvis for any assistance?" Tony counters pointedly.

Thor pauses, and then slumps, "No, I did not," he admits.

Tony turns to her, "Steve doesn't like heights, so I didn't give him a lot of windows in his room. Go tell him that we're bringing Thor, and tell Jarvis to turn of all the lights from here to there. Also, if you could grab a pair of headphones and a blanket, that would be ideal."

Natasha nods and lets her hand linger on Thor's back for a second, "You will be fine, _molniyenosnyy mozg,_ I'll be back."

She completes her task with success, and Steve helps Tony transfer Thor to the quiet room. Tony hands Thor the headphones and attaches them to a video on YouTube of white noise—something of the like—and Bruce, who Tony had Jarvis call, spreads a blanket across the Asgardian with thinned lips of sympathy.

Natasha perches on the ground beside the couch with her phone's brightness turned down as much as possible so she can do some work, and her other teammates gather in the quiet, darkened room as well. The only noise is the rhythm of breathing, and Natasha finds it almost unsettling, but doesn't comment.

Two hours later, Clint arrives wordlessly with food for dinner, but they move to Steve's small kitchen to leave Thor sleeping.

When the food is eaten, they return to the room to keep watch.

Thor looks so young asleep, and it reminds Natasha abruptly that despite the fact he's more than a millennia old, in human years, he, like her, is only twenty-three.

S.H.I.E.L.D. attempts to call them within the next twelve hours as they leave Thor resting, and if the messenger is wordlessly escorted out of the tower with a broken nose for speaking to loudly, well, no one has to know that but them.

000o000

3.

After everything with Malekith, Jane and her boyfriend kiss deeply, and then share a long hug. Thor's armor is beaten down giving it a charred appearance, and he smells thickly of ozone and burnt apricots, which is nothing lovely. Her nose wrinkles in distaste at the sensation, but he's here and she loves him, so she ignores it as best she can in favor of tilting her head up and giving him a wide smile.

"I'm really glad that you came back," she admits, resting her head against his chest. She's too short to do his shoulder, and Thor's arms feel like they're swallowing her whole. Between the burning, though, she can faintly make out blood. Probably just remnants from the battle, she doesn't think that he cleaned up at all between then and now.

It's sweet.

He wanted to see her more than take a shower, bath—whatever they do on Asgard.

"Me too," Thor admits, his voice soft.

"I had my doubts," she admits in whisper. Thor laughs a little, and the sound is deep and makes something in her bubble with joy. His laughter is contagious. It's one of the reasons that she realized that she liked him back in New Mexico. None of her previous boyfriends have been able to make her laugh as much.

But Thor still smells, and it's getting to the point of nauseating.

She pulls back from the hug at long last and tilts her head back towards her small apartment. "Do you want to come inside?" She questions, and gestures behind her towards the space, and then promptly feels like an idiot. Where else did Thor think she was going to be gesturing to? He knows where she lives. Clearly.

He's been in it before.

Thor gives her a fond smile that suggests understanding and nods, "Yes, that sounds fine."

Jane nods in response, "Yes. Good." They walk back towards the apartment together, and Jane shoves open the door, gesturing for him to go in first. He does so with a slight nod of thanks and Jane follows him.

Erik's eyes widen a little as he sees him, and Darcy tilts the book down from where she was reading squished into a corner of the sofa. "Oh, he returns. That's a first." Darcy announces loudly. Jane's cheeks heat.

Thor's smile grows a little strained, and Jane resists the sudden urge to grab his hand. She's not sure of Thor is that kind of person, and it would be awkward to just assume and grab and then...yeah, okay, nope. She's going to stop that thought before she embarrass herself over imaginary situations.

Oh, man, if she could mentally facepalm…

"My apologies," Thor says, "my travels took me far."

"Dude, I saw you in New York, like, at least six other times." Darcy points out, brows meeting at her frustration, and Jane gives her a pointed look. Now's not the time to be highlighting that. Thor's here, and Jane doesn't want to chase him off.

"I…" Thor trails, but doesn't appear to have a proper answer for her surrogate sister.

Jane blows out a breath, and hesitantly rests a hand on Thor's shoulder. He turns to look at her, "Hey, do you want something to eat? I know it's early morning, and—actually, you probably already had food. I mean, cereal isn't exactly a proper breakfast, anyway, but none of us can cook except Darcy and she's in a _mood—"_

"I am _not!"_

"—so I really wouldn't count on that happening." Jane finishes lamely. Thor's still giving her that smile, the gentle one that makes her rambles feel like speeches, and her heart does that weird flutter thing that makes her feel like a second grader again.

"I have already eaten, yes," he agrees, and Jane nods once, drumming her fingers a little as she realizes she has no idea what to do now. Before, with Thor, it's always been running from one thing or another and trying not to die, but now, in a moment of actual peace and quiet, Jane...has no idea what to do from this point on.

She clears her throat a little awkwardly, and Erik does a funny thing with his hands towards Darcy, but all she does is stare at him like he's having another episode.

"Thor," Jane addresses carefully, and thins her lips a little. "I'm...hey, are you okay?"

Thor's head, which had been tilting forward, jerks upright and his posture leaps into a straightened position, which makes his previous slumping all the more obvious. Thor doesn't slump. Not that she knows of. He's always carried himself with ease, but now he looks like he's going to topple.

He didn't clean up, she remembers. He probably didn't even address his wounds—whatever they are. Jane bites sharply at her inner gums, and then grabs at his left bicep gently, "Why don't you sit down?" She suggests, and guides him towards the couch beside Darcy.

Darcy makes a face, "Elgh, you smell."

Jane's cheeks _do_ heat this time, "Darcy," she chides.

"He does!" Darcy defends.

Jane knows that, but there isn't a need to publicly announce it. It's rude. Thor's entire body sinks into the couch and previous tension in his face relaxes a bit. Jane's lips thin tightly, and she draws her hands away from him to study where he's lopsided the most. A majority of the pain appears to be coming from his torso, and Jane rapidly flicks through what she saw of the battle. She knows that Thor was thrown and hit several things, and there's also that...thing that ran Loki through that was beating him, so the possibility of internal damage aren't low.

Curses.

Jane presses a hand against the blond's forehead and feels a rising heat. "Do you feel sick?" She questions.

Thor stares at her.

"Do you feel sick?" She repeats, "Like you're going to throw up?"

Thor gives a hesitant nod, "Yes, but it is of no matter. Jane, I'm fine."

She huffs with disagreement and then turns to Darcy, "Get the first-aid kit from the bathroom," she requests, and Darcy makes a face, but looks at Thor and resolve settles in her face. She sighs with an air of drama and closes the book, rising from the couch.

"Thank you," Jane calls towards her retreating back.

She turns back to the Asgardian, "What's wrong specifically?"

"Jane, I'm fine," Thor insists, "nothing is wrong."

Jane folds her arms across her chest, staring him down. "You're running a fever, I can smell blood, and you're slouching."

A look of slight irritability flashes over his face, and he grips the armrest making a move to stand, "I told you, everything is—" Thor's voice cuts off and he makes a little "oh" noise before he topples face-first onto the floor.

Jane attempts to catch him, but the sudden weight and her lacking upper body strength don't do much but slow the fall. Thor's body feels lax beneath her, and, with effort, she manages to shove him onto his back. His eyes are closed and a wheezing noise is escaping through his lungs.

Internal damage. Yeah. She hates it when she's right.

_Oh, gosh, internal damage. Thor could be dying._

"Darcy!" She yells in panic. She turns to where Erik is watching from the table, halfway lifted onto his feet. "Call an ambulance!"

"You think it will help?" Erik questions, and Jane bites sharply at her upper gums, trying to tap Thor's face to wake him. He remains still. How is she supposed to know if—Thor's Asgardian. Right. His entire biological system could be different than theirs, and they could do more harm than good by requesting aid.

"I don't know!" Jane admits harshly, "Call anyway. _Darcy!"_

"I'm right here," Darcy's voice calls behind her, "geeze, there's no need to—oh." She hears Darcy come to a stop behind her as Erik picks up the phone to dial the medical aid. She twists to look back, and Darcy wordlessly hands the first-aid kit to her.

Jane opens it, but stares at the equipment without much hope. She has no idea how to administer assistance to Thor. She's not a MD, she's a _astrophysicist;_ it's not the same thing. She's not even certified in CPR.

"Um," Jane fumbles, and flicks through the packaging, but no answers await her within the container.

Darcy squats down next to her, "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure," Jane admits, running a hand through her hair and wishing that she had _any idea_ what to do. Her genius IQ is useless here. Why didn't she take any medical courses? Her work is dangerous, it could have—

_Curses._

Darcy lifts a hand over his nose to check for breath, and pushes her glasses up her nose with her other, "Jane, calm down, you're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"He just _fell unconscious_!" Jane defends, "I just got him back, and now he's—" She cuts her voice sharply, refusing to finish the thought out loud in humiliation.

Darcy rests a comforting hand on her shoulder, but, with their meager medical skills, there's not much else they can do but wait.

An agonizingly slow fifteen minutes later, Jane opens the door at a pounding and comes to two realizations. One: This is not the paramedics. Two: Flipping _Black Widow_ and _Dr. Bruce Banner_ are in her doorway. Her stomach lurches and she can't quite pinpoint the emotion that's swirling through her. Awe, maybe, mostly trepidation.

_Avengers._

There are flipping _Avengers_ in her doorway.

Stupid, yeah, because her boyfriend is an Avenger, but somehow that's different. Thor has been on and off with the team since New York and she's seen him assist with a few battles, but for the most part she has come to associate the _Avengers_ and _Thor_ as two different collectives.

And Black Widow and Dr. Bruce Banner are in her doorway.

Her jaw is gaping.

She snaps it shut and blinks rapidly, and then, like the idiot she is, promptly questions: "What are you doing here?"

 _What do you_ think, _Foster? There here for the party?_

Dr. Banner looks like he's about to fumble out a response, but Black Widow doesn't bother with one, apparently not in the mood to wait. She shoves past Jane with an ease than concerns her and steps into the apartment, moving with the pace of a woman on a mission.

Dr. Banner flashes her an apologetic smile, "Sorry. She does that. Where is Thor?"

Jane wordlessly points behind her, and shuffles a little to let Dr. Banner past. He does so with another apology and scrambles into the small apartment. Jane never really noticed how simplistic or _messy_ it was until Black Widow and Dr. Banner are standing inside.

Good heavens, she never cleans up, does she?

This is humiliating.

Darcy looks up from her phone long enough to catch Jane's wide eyes with her own before Black Widow leans down next to Thor, pressing a hand to his forehead. She sighs and looks up at Dr. Banner. "He's warm."

The action nearly startles her.

Black Widow just checked someone for a fever.

( _Yes, she's human—stop being stupid)_.

"That's not good," Dr. Banner says and moves around the couch to press his fingers to Thor's neck. A slight frown forms on the edges of his lips. He looks up at her, and Jane suddenly feels insignificant. "Does he have any injuries?"

The—oh.

Right.

Um.

Jane rubs at the back of her neck, embarrassed. "I...um, well," she stumbles out, "we didn't think to check. We sort of panicked and only made sure he was breathing." At the narrowed look both shoot her, she appends: "I'm an astrophysicist, I didn't know what to do."

"Aren't _you_ a gamma scientist?" Darcy questions and Jane wants to smack her head with her palm. He's the _Hulk._ What does she think?

"Yeah," Dr. Banner says absentmindedly as he and Black Widow quickly and effectively undo the straps of Thor's armor. "I was for a little bit."

"What are you two doing here, anyway? We called for an ambulance." Darcy points out. Jane was admittedly thinking the same thing.

Black Widow pauses long enough to lift an eyebrow towards Jane's surrogate sister, "We were on our way here anyway. We intercepted the paramedics in the lobby and told them we'd handle it."

But—wait. They _aren't_ first responders, or even really anything near that. Why do _they_ get permission to mess with her boyfriend? What if they make it way worse? Thor already passed out, and she's _not_ going to let them make the injuries—whatever they may be—get infection or something worse. She's not.

Jane folds her arms across her chest, "You shouldn't be doing this. You're not doctors."

Black Widow levels her with a stare that makes her uncomfortable, and Dr. Banner ignores her entirely. He manages to remove the chestplate and Black Widow hands him a knife from her boot so he can cut down the length of red fabric.

He's wearing a lot of layers. That must have been uncomfortable.

Jane shifts forward of her own accord, and her lips draw together sharply as she sees the array of bruising adjourning Thor's chest. Oh, that is a mess. How did he even _talk_ to her? Jane would have stumbled into the balcony and then passed out, not manage to walk a few feet and _converse_ before passing out.

He only seemed a little uncomfortable. This must have been _agonizing._

Dr. Banner sighs a little and catches Black Widow's eye. "He's an idiot."

"Yeah," Black Widow agrees, shaking her head a little, "Cap's still downstairs. Should I call him?"

 _Captain America_ is in her apartment?

Dr. Banner nods a little, "Yeah, I think it would probably be best. We need to get him to the nearest Stark Medical as fast as possible, tell Tony to have a team ready. Did you find out from Tony where London's SI building is?"

"Brixton."

"Whoa—wait!" Jane commands, and the two look up at her, seeming a little surprised that she's here. Jane's left hand clenches a little, but she moves forward and shifts so she can rest a hand on Thor's shoulder. His skin is uncomfortably warm, and she nearly draws her hand back. "You can't just _take_ him."

"Miss Foster," Dr. Banner's voice is patient, "You're being ridiculous. He needs medical attention, and, as clearly demonstrated by the last fifteen minutes, you don't have the qualifications to care for him."

Jane's face heats up. "I—"

Thor groans a little, and all of them flick their attention back to the Asgardian between them. Thor's blue eyes flutter open a little and he squints as if through a headache. His flicks to her first, and then lingers on Black Widow and Dr. Banner. He sighs softly, but openly winces, one hand straying to press against his ribs.

Dr. Banner slaps his hand away, "Don't do that. We don't know what the extent of the damage is and you could make it worse."

Thor gasps a little, and his gaze flicks back to her. Jane gives his hand a quick squeeze, "I'm here," she reassures, "you'll be okay."

"...Nishph," Thor answers in response, blinking rapidly again.

Dr. Banner looks up at Black Widow, "What's Steve's ETA?"

"About a minute," Black Widow answers calmly from where rapidly flicking through a phone, "Clint found a stretcher."

"Good," Dr. Banner says and flicks up his hand to check the watch on his wrist, "tell Tony we'll be there in fifteen."

"Already done."

"Wait—you're taking him," Jane confirms, and both give her an unimpressed stare. Jane bites at her tongue and tries not to let the humiliation overwhelm her as she briefly glances up towards Darcy for comfort, "can I come with you?" She questions.

Both Avengers share a look. Dr. Banner gives her a gentle smile, "Miss Foster, it would be better and easier if you remained here for the moment. We'll contact you when he's up for visitors."

"I'm his girlfriend!" Jane retorts, "I have a right—"

"No, you don't," Black Widow cuts in. Her voice isn't sharp, but it still stings. Black Widow absently runs a hand through Thor's hair. "This is the end of discussion. You're staying here for now."

Jane's jaw clicks and she turns her head away.

Thor makes another noise, and she sees his lips move several times before he manages to get a noise out: "...'uce?"

"Yeah," Dr. Banner affirms, flicking through Jane's first-aid kit for something, "you're in a lot of trouble, idiot."

Thor winces a little, and his gaze rests on Black Widow for a second, "Nat? What're...what're..."

"You should have called," Black Widow chides, but there's something soft in her voice. She runs a hand through his hair again, "we would have helped you beat him up, _molniyenosnyy mozg._ Call us next time, _da_? We'll avoid this entire debacle."

Thor breathes out sharply, and squeezes Jane's hand. Jane nearly jumps. Honestly, she forgot she was still gripping his. She gathers her frayed nerves and gently returns the pressure.

Dr. Banner pulls a type of cream out of the first-aid kit and looks back at Thor, "This is going to hurt," he warns squeezing some of the bottle out onto his hand, "so call us next time."

"...No time," Thor answers in defense.

Black Widow smiles with venom, glancing up for a second, "Well, you'll have plenty of time to contemplate your life choices in medical. That's Clint and Cap," she waves something forward, and Jane looks up to see Captain America and Hawkeye stepping into her apartment.

She tries not to gawk, but can't quite help it.

Thor openly groans, and drops his lifted head onto the ground. "'M dead." He proclaims, and the Avengers in her apartment seem to agree with that statement.

Fifteen days later, Thor shows up at her apartment hale and whole with a bouquet and an apologetic smile. Behind him is Black Widow, who announces herself as his babysitter because "the space between his brain has been fried by electricity, and a recently collapsed lung isn't something you should be walking around with, but he was insistent. Congratulations. When should we expect the happy announcement?"

000o000

4.

Thor bites sharply on his inner cheek and reflexively flexes his hand in and out as he tries to remain present. _Grounded._ His veins are alight with battle, and his mind keeps wandering far away from here, analyzing where he slipped up and can do better next time.

Something that won't leave Natasha with a sprained wrist and Clint a concussion. He _hadn't_ meant to let them fall—he _swears_ it—but it had happened all the same. He just...hasn't been as present, and he knows that it's only going to cause more problems in the future. He needs to stay _focused._

"Thor?" Steve's voice is gentle, and it snaps him from his reverie a little as he flicks his gaze towards the captain. Steve's uniform is covered in dirt and dust from the building collapse he was standing in the center of, and his hair is stained a little from blood and bruised.

That, Thor's assuming, is where one of the men hit him with a crowbar.

"Yes?" Thor asks.

Steve's staring at him strangely, and the change in attention makes him uncomfortable. "You good?" Steve asks, and Thor bites at his tongue to withhold his first response of " _no, not at all",_ instead remaining quiet for a second, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Never better, Captain," Thor assures with a smile, but it feels strained, even to him. Norns know he's a terrible actor. He doesn't have any desire to talk to anyone. He'd rather curl into a small miserable mass and pretend that he has no idea what day of the week it is.

"You've just seemed...off today," Steve notes. Well, _great,_ good to know that his failure is _obvious._

He needs to learn how to lie effectively.

"Nothing is of the matter," Thor promises. Steve's gaze lingers on him for a moment longer, and then releases his arm after giving it a slight squeeze that Thor nearly jumps at. The captain trails back towards where Clint and Natasha are being seen to by the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors as well as Bruce, and Thor tries not to openly wince as he spots them.

They would be fine if he'd been thinking properly. He blows out a sharp breath between his teeth, and shifts on his feet.

_His. Fault._

He sweeps dirty hair away from his face, wondering for the umpteenth time why he didn't bother with a hair tie, and turns to see where he can be of assistance in the clean up. The building collapse wouldn't have happened if he'd been paying more attention.

Why did these stupid robbers decide _today_ of all days to take more than two hundred innocents captive?

_Stupid, stupid._

"Thor!" A voice behind him calls out loudly, and Thor turns to it, confused. It isn't anyone he knows personally, but their voice seems strained—almost pained. Mjolnir thrums beneath his hands, awaiting his call, and he turns to offer help to—

A reporter.

What on the—?

The girl is followed by a camera, her lips covered in a red so bright it's nearly painful, and her blonde hair is strewn up into a high ponytail. In a distant part of his mind she reminds him vaguely of the lower classes of Asgard, and the thought makes him almost _ill._

"Thor!" The reporter exclaims again, coming to a halt in front of him with a bright smile, "Are you available to answer a few questions!?" Her voice is high pitched.

Thor stumbles over himself, "I'm...it—"

"Great!" The woman says brightly, and turns back to the other news men, "Are you ready for live air?"

"Just about," the man assures, adjusting something on his device.

"Wait, I am—" Thor starts to say, but can't find a way to finish the sentence. _Not ready? Want to to do this? A disaster?_

Thor sweeps his gaze around, trying to find the attention of a familiar face, but can't. He's not ready for this. He really has no idea what he has to _say,_ because usually he's not...the press doesn't question just _him._ Asgard is normal, but on Earth he isn't a prince. Not of anything of importance.

He must have missed something, because the woman is finishing her introductions and is waving her arm around as she explains something. Her words feel detached, and Thor can't get his words to form properly.

"—What would you say was the pivotal moment in the battle that took down the building?" The woman questions, "We've heard reports that something happened with Hawkeye and Black Widow. They were in charge of keeping the robbers from leaving on the roof, but there was a grenade, is this correct?"

Thor's mouth runs dry.

_He can do this._

Just— _it's all fine._

"Aye," Thor answers, but his voice feels pathetically small, "And I didn't catch them." He mutters.

"What was that?" The woman's lips are such a distraction. Why did she even believe herself capable of not being a hindrance to public safety with that shade on? Jane doesn't wear lipstick, and Thor is grateful for that. He didn't realize how _much_ he was until this woman.

Thor doesn't answer fast enough for her, and she guesses: "Did you say that _you're_ the reason that Hawkeye and Black Widow are currently being attended to by medics?"

His fists clench, but he presses his lips together firmly.

The woman scoffs a little, "I can't say I'm too surprised. I mean no offense, but you create _disasters_ when you help the Avengers fight."

The words feel like a physical blow, and Thor barely restrains himself from rearing back from her, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Well," the woman waves her hand around, "we all know that Asgard must have different policies and such, but that doesn't give you reason to destroy buildings like you please. Frankly, structural damage has increased once everyone realized most of New York isn't impervious to lightning. Do you have anything to say on the matter?"

_No._

What does she _want_ him to say?

"It is my mistake," Thor says carefully, trying to look anywhere but the camera or her face. This is live. Midgard is watching him stumble over his words like a bumbling fool all because he can't get the words to come out _properly._ Norns, why did he have to be the only one in his family born without a silvertongue?

He can feel her unimpressed stare, so he adds, if a little hastily: "I shall try to correct it in the future."

She does bring up that point, however: lightning is a powerful weapon, and he often forgets this. He can't shoot volts of pure energy at a building and not expect it to walk away unscathed—not that he _has_ been. He _is_ aware that the structure of Midgardian building tools and tries to account for that, but sometimes it's difficult to judge properly.

The woman waves a hand over towards the building, "A majority of this is from when the robbers detonated the bombs, but would they have found success in their plan if you had managed to keep Black Widow and Hawkeye safe?"

He hesitates, "I'm...I'm not certain. I don't—"

A hand swings around his shoulders suddenly, and Thor's hand tightens around Mjolnir's handle, but the metallic hand of Tony's armor makes the adrenaline come to an abrupt halt. _It is an ally_. _Relax._ Tony's face plate is removed, but the charred bits of wires on his armor are sticking out, and it makes his entire appearance look like he was hit by a bilgesnipe.

They both look terrible, but Tony hardly seems to care.

His nose is bleeding slightly, but his eyes are hard, "And who are you?" Tony questions, his voice flat.

The woman, clearly flustered, gathers herself, "Oh! Mr. Stark! What a welcomed surprise, I have some questions for you—"

"Yeah, no." Tony lifts up a hand, "Let's backtrack just a bit. I asked you a question. Name?"

The woman blinks several times, almost seeming offended, and Thor tries not to duck his head. "Tiffany Wikes, I work for ABC News," she explains hastily, and Tony nods, breathing out a quiet sigh of annoyance.

"Oh, _you_ ," he mutters, "that's why you seemed familiar." Judging from the tone, Thor is going to safely assume that past experience hasn't left him fond of her.

Ms. Wikes smile grows strained, "Mr. Stark? Would you mind answering some questions? Thor has already given us details of how Black Widow and Hawkeye are injured because he slipped up, but more details would be welcomed. Would you mind?"

"Yes," Tony says, clipped. His hand tightens around Thor's shoulders a little, and Thor tries not to shrink to much in his discomfort, "listen, let's get one thing straight, Ms. Wikes—pin _any_ of this on Thor and I'll sue."

_What on the Nine!?_

Thor's jaw freely drops. "Stark—" he starts, flabbergasted.

"Mr. Stark—" Ms. Wike's eyes are wide, "there is _no_ need to get to that point, surely you know the events of the injury of half your team and, thereby, the disaster with the captives was at the fault of—"

"Yeah, no, don't start," Tony encourages, smiling sharply, "I have more lawyers than you have strands of hair," he turns towards the camera, "the _Avengers_ as a whole take full responsibility for the disaster, and Stark Industries has agreed to pay for the rebuild and offer jobs to anyone now out of work. Thank you for your time, have a nice day."

He stears Thor away from the reporter, and the others quickly amassing, pulling him towards where the other Avengers are gathered together. Tony releases him and Thor tries to gather himself. "You didn't have to do that," he assures, "that woman did nothing wrong."

Tony snorts, "She pinned the blame on you for something that wasn't even your fault."

"It _was,"_ Thor corrects, "if I had been—"

"Point Break, you were on the tenth floor when that grenade off, the fact that you managed to grab Natasha before she hit the ground is nothing short of a miracle." Tony corrects, and his tone is almost daring him to disagree. Thor bites sharply on the edge of his tongue and looks away.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Tony sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder again, "No worries. Clint and Natashlie are going to be fine. Grumpy? Probably. But _alive."_

Thor remains quiet, but gives a slight nod. The two of them finish the walk towards the other Avengers, and Clint lifts up an arrow he's playing with and gestures towards the herd of gathered reporters now talking with a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

"Who should I kill?" He asks lightly.

Thor nearly groans, " _No_ one." He insists.

"Tiffany Wikes," Tony answers instead, and Natasha's face flashes with clear distaste. Bruce scowls a little, and Thor tips his head back and tries not to be as warmed by this as he is.

" _Again?"_ Natasha mutters, and then looks up at Steve, "Can I hurt her?"

Thor facepalms.

"Nothing that will last more than ten minutes," Steve instructs, and Thor openly gapes at him. _He_ is supposed to be the sensible one between all of them! What on the _Nine?_ Natasha faintly smiles with success and turns towards Clint.

"I'm sorry," Thor blurts out towards them, and they look up, brows furrowed. "For letting you fall. I'm sorry," he adds hastily, "I know that it was foolish, and I should have reacted faster, but the woman was hurt and I really thought that I could save her and then grab you, but clearly that didn't happen, and I—then I'm...just, I really should have—"

"Thor," Clint cuts into the middle of hasty explanation, "blondie, it's fine. Really, just— _breathe."_ He mimics the rhythm, but Thor can't quite get himself there.

Bruce's gaze flicks towards him, "What's up though? You've been distracted today."

Thor tries not to flinch, worrying his lip between his teeth. He...really doesn't want to discuss, but the open earnesty on their faces makes him pause. Before he really knows what he's doing, the words are already falling from his lips: "Today is my mother's namesday, and she...isn't here for it." He explains quietly.

Identical looks of realization cross over the Avenger's faces, and Tony reaches a hand out to give his arm a quick squeeze, "Sorry." His sympathy is a welcomed sight after hours of criticism.

They return back to the tower, and later, when Thor enters the common room, he finds five namesday cards—a Midgardian tradition he personally finds ridiculous—addressed to his mother.

000o000

5.

Clint typically considers himself to be a calm person. Yeah, he's a bit of a snot and can drive any sane man running to an asylum when he tries, but for the most part, he isn't someone who angers easily. This...this is different.

He really can't remember how it started. He, Nat, and Thor were sent to gather some information from a HYDRA base—the latter because some sort of magical—based object was suspected to be involved—but they only took about three steps into the building before it all fell apart.

It was a trap, and they put in about six good swings before they were weaponless, detained, and he and Thor shoved into an interrogation room. Apparently these HYDRA agents have _some_ brain cells because they didn't leave them _all_ together to plot their escape. If he wasn't currently chained to a chair, he'd applaud them for their odd stroke of semi-genius.

As it is, he's impressed, but mostly annoyed.

Thor's head is tilted up towards the ceiling with an expression that assures Clint of his boredom. It's probably a bad sign when it comes to the point that, rather than be worried or panic when held captive, the most they both are is annoyed.

Such is their life now, though.

They only have to wait a few more minutes before the door to the room is thrown open and a tall man steps into the room. He's balding with a scar over his nose that looks faintly like cracking or someone plastered make-up on to give him a more frightening appearance. If that _was_ the goal, it doesn't succeed. Clint barely restricts himself from outright laughing.

"And the host is here at last," Clint announces, giving a wide simper as the man turns to scowl at him heavily. Gosh, that scar is distracting. "Welcome to the party. I'm thinking that some refreshments would be nice. How are you at baking?"

"Is this some sort of jest to you?" The man demands with a thick German accent, "I am part of HYDRA. You are here because we see value in keeping you alive, not because you can _talk."_

"I can plan pretty B+ parties, too." Clint assures and Thor huffs quietly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm thinking some cake to the left, and balloons wouldn't go unwelcomed—" The backhand isn't unexpected, but the operative was wearing rings so it breaks skin, which hurts more. Clint bites at his tongue sharply, but a faint hissing noise still slips from his lips.

"Ow." He declares pointedly, glancing at Thor when the Asgardian's stance tightens in reassurance. It was just annoying, not life-threatening.

"You think yourself funny," the operative notes out loud and Clint shrugs.

"Sometimes."

"I'm not here to _banter,"_ the HYDRA agent snarls. Respectable. Clint nods, sitting back as best he can in the uncomfortable restraints. The handcuffs are digging into his wrists, but Clint is already working to twist and wiggle his way out of them with his lock picks. People never think to check his forearm brace for them. Morans.

"Good," Thor says, and the attention of nose-scar shifts from Clint to the Asgardian, "where is Lady Romanov?"

The HYDRA operative smiles, showing surprisingly well-kept teeth. He's seen a lot of bad guys who don't keep their teeth clean, and the change is welcome. Dental plans, man, they save breath and eyes.

"Oh, she's around." Nose-Scar assures, "But you won't be speaking to her any time soon."

"Have you harmed her?" Thor's voice states that there should only be one answer to that question, and differing from it won't be pretty.

The HYDRA agent turns to meet Thor's eyes fully and sneers. "Nothing that you wouldn't do."

Uh?

Clint's eyebrows furrow, but the movements of his hands don't cease. "What the heck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that we are well aware what a wild card your Asgardian is, and knowledgeable enough to know that he does nothing for your team but hit things." Scar-Nose waves a hand, "It matters not what it is. Buildings, blocks, teammates. A stupid idiot with a gluttony for battle, _that's_ what it means, Agent Barton. Now, I would like to discuss—"

The click of handcuffs ripples through the air before Clint surges to his feet, grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and slams his head against the nearest wall. He slumps immediately, and Clint releases him with a rather unsavory word about his mother spat in his direction. He turns to Thor and flicks up a set of keys from the HYDRA agent's belt.

"Jerk," he grumbles as he moves forward to undo the heavy restraints.

Thor remains quiet.

Clint stops for a second until Thor meets eyes with him, "He's wrong. You know that, right? You don't just hit things."

"Sometimes I wonder," Thor sighs. Clint narrows his eyes, and Thor shakes his head, "It is fine, Clint. I believe you hit him hard enough to grant retrograde amnesia, and I don't think that was necessary."

Clint smiles cheerfully, and begins to work on the locks again as he counters: "No. It was more than necessary. He insulted you."

They exit the room to find most of the guards all unconscious and Natasha wiping blood from a cut under her nose. Her irritation is prominent, but she only shakes her head as she fires her gun towards an approaching guard, and then demands: "What, you stop for coffee?"

Thor sighs and summons Mjolnir, and they exit the building two minutes later, data in hand.

000o000

+1

Thor left them a note that he was called back to Asgard abruptly in a scrawl that Tony didn't really recognize, but he'd shrugged it off to being hurried. And then Thor doesn't return for a week. Then two. Then three, and finally Steve voices the question they've all been thinking at breakfast: "Has anyone heard Thor?"

There's a series of un-affirmatives, and Tony's stomach does an awful jolt. Not hearing from Thor _period_ over three weeks is weird if he didn't give an explanation. A _longer_ explanation than "Asgard called me", because that's _weird._ Actually, now that Tony's thinking about it, everything about that note was off. It doesn't sound like Thor. It was too formal, and it's a little well known secret between them all that Thor will use as much text speak as possible when he's writing notes by because it's faster. It looks funny with his cursive, but Tony's grown used to it.

Natasha and Clint share a look before lifting up their phones slightly, "We'll make some calls," Natasha assures, "maybe Fury pulled him aside for something."

Tony has his doubts.

"Jarvis," he says to get the AI's attention, "search for an energy signature like Thor's and let me know what you find."

Jarvis is quiet for a long moment, "Nothing, Sir, but if I don't find any history of the Bifrost's energy in any history I can access. I don't believe that Thor left the planet, Sir."

Well—marvelous.

Another time, maybe, they wouldn't have let this slide. The one time it _does_ matter is when their ignorance rockets to sky-high levels. Why do they have to be so _stupid?_

"Who wrote the note, then?" Steve questions, eyebrows meeting together in confusion. "I thought that he left it."

"Unknown, Sir," Jarvis says, "it was placed on Ms. Potts's desk and she left it for you when she returned to the Tower. I don't know the origin of it before then."

Steve's frown deepens, "No, but it's pretty obvious that it wasn't _Thor."_

That much they all agree on. Fury would be proud, arguments spike between them regularly, and the fact of total compliance between the group is rare. But they wouldn't start petty fights about something like _this._

"Well," Clint tips his head, "I guess we have some hunting to do. Thor is MIA."

And it took them _three weeks_ to notice.

000o000

It takes almost two more days before they get any additional progress, but it was slow and grueling. Natasha and Clint's S.H.I.E.L.D. connections get them pretty much no where, and Jarvis can't find anything to grab at that makes sense. Tony finally calls Pepper's secretary's secretary, who apparently had the note delivered to her, and she gives a rough description of the man who handed it to her.

It wasn't Thor.

And the secretary's secretary was asked not to look at the note, so she didn't think twice about it coming from this source.  
Tony has Jarvis look into files for said man, and they finally get something going from _there._ Billie Jefferson, twenty-five, but balding, tattoo maniac. And, funny-not-funny, a HYDRA operative. Natasha, sitting beside him from the start of this, lets out a bitter sounding sigh.

"I used to work with him in S.H.I.E.L.D.," she seethes, "he beat up Clint after the mind control. His brother was one of the agents that was killed during the attack on the 'carrier."

Tony's fingers still on the keypad and he grits his teeth. "Well, J., hack into some cameras. Find us this guy."

"Will do, Sir," Jarvis assures.

Four hours later, Tony blasts through the door of a HYDRA base with the rest of the team in blazing glory, and tear the thing limb from limb apart as they search for Thor. They find him in the basement, sedated and a little worse for wear, but very much _alive._

Natasha and Clint move to provide cover as he, Hulk, and Steve walk towards the Asgardian.

Steve hacks at the restraints holding Thor down to a table. Tony looks through the medical analysis, trying to determine if it's safe to remove Thor from the sedative immediately, or ease him off of it before Hulk grabs Thor from the table and rips out all the equipment with a cry.

"Whoa!" Tony chides, looking up at the paper, "Mean and Green, lets not get ahead of ourselves—we don't know if it's safe."

"Safe." Hulk insists, "Puny Banner says so."

Tony and Steve share a disbelieving look. Hulk huffs angrily, but tucks their teammate close to him, as if cradling precious glass. " _Safe_." Hulk promises.

Tony has Jarvis the scan the papers for the sedatives anyway, and grabs a small sample for the lab. Then, in both a figurative and literal sense, they burn the building down to the ground.

000o000

The sedative, as Hulk promised, indeed proves to hold a few nasty side effects, but is otherwise unharmful when pulled out suddenly. Given the sheer amount that HYDRA was pouring into Thor, Tony is honestly surprised by this more than he cares to say out loud.

Bruce straps Thor down to as much medical equipment he dares in Stark Medical, and the team hunkers down in the room. Paranoia or protectiveness, Tony doesn't really know, but none of them want to leave Thor by himself right now.

Jarvis may be watching, but someone kidnapped Thor, _under their nose._

They won't let that happen again.

000o000

Thor wakes up a few days later, blinks tiredly and asks for water, but seems otherwise unaffected by the whole thing. Tony does note the relief that slipped into his stance when he saw them at his eyes opening, but other than that, Thor doesn't say a word.

Clint hands him the requested glass of water, "You're not going to mention anything?" He asks.

"About?" Thor questions after downing the glass in one swig.

Tony sighs, "The fact that we didn't notice you were missing for three freakin' weeks? You know, _that?_ "

Thor pauses, but shakes his head, "In my lucid moments I knew you were coming, I did not fear." A gnawing pit of worry releases in Tony's stomach at the admission, and he releases a deep sigh of relief. The others relax somewhat.

"Good. That's good." Tony mutters.

Thor looks down at the glass and shakes his head a little, "I did not have a _reason_ to believe you'd abandoned me," he promises, and gives them all a slight scolding scowl, "You're all overprotective."

Tony snorts loudly. He doesn't know if it's in agreement or not.

Natasha folds her arms across her chest, eyebrow lifting. "You got a problem with that?"

Thor shakes his head, looking into the glass with a faint smile. "No, no problem at all."

* * *


End file.
